


Blues From Down Here

by mytimehaspassed



Category: Drake & Josh
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after Josh forgets your name, you run in to him at a Manhattan coffee shop by your studio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blues From Down Here

**BLUES FROM DOWN HERE**  
DRAKE & JOSH  
Drake/Josh; Drake/OMC; Drake/OFC; Josh/OFC  
 **WARNINGS** : post-series AU

  
Two years after Josh forgets your name, you run in to him at a Manhattan coffee shop by your studio. You come here for the lemon ginger tea, something Angie tells you will cancel out all those cigarettes you smoke, something Angie tells you will keep your voice boyishly clean, devoid of all those stressors that take stars like you off the map. You don’t have the heart to tell her that you started smoking to try and sound just like Bob Dylan, just like Johnny Cash, conveying years of heartbreak through a single roll of your vowels, through the sound of gravel, whiskey-soaked and hoarse. You don’t have the heart to tell her that you’re just so tired of being clean.

Two years after Josh forgets your name, you find him on the arm of a beautiful blonde, her golden brown skin and perfectly white teeth, her fingers and wrist and neck sparkling with gold jewelry that glints in the light shining through the storefront window, the afternoon sun that dips lower beneath the horizon, that shies away. The light that surrounds her, this radiance, her perfectly smooth skin, Josh’s hand resting lightly on her shoulder, tucking her against his side, his big smile, the way she looks at him. It’s funny because you came to New York to get away from Josh.

No, really, Josh’s awkward smile and warm brown eyes, and the way his long, pale neck arches in the sunlight, the way he speaks softly to the girl beside him, it’s funny because you actually thought you could.

Two years after Josh forgets your name, you catch his gaze as you head for a table in the back, the table where Angie sits inspecting her fingernails, holding her blood red acrylics up to the light in search of breaks or tears or something, one ear glued to her cell phone, her mouth moving faster than humanly possible. The table where Angie nurses her black coffee, the splash of vodka she laces it with to help her get through the day, the silver flask you keep in your jacket pocket, the table where she rolls her eyes and makes a motion with the hand not holding her cell, clearly annoyed, really, this is your life now. And Josh’s gaze, the way he focuses all his attention on you, turning abruptly from the girl on his arm, catching his breath as he looks at you, this here, Josh, your brother, really, this is everything you left behind when you moved away from San Diego. This is everything you ran away from.

Josh and his stupid mouth, he says, “Drake,” and it’s exactly the way he’s always said your name, exactly the way you’ve always remembered. He says, “Hey,” and this is just so fucking stupid, this is just so wrong, because you two stopped being brothers such a long time ago, even before you left, even before Josh stopped calling, stopped emailing, stopped trying to get in touch. You two stopped being brothers the day you finally kissed him, the day you finally dropped the act and stopped pretending that you weren’t in love with him, stopped running away from your impulses. You two stopped being brothers the day Josh told you that he loved you.

The steam that emanates from the paper cup in your hand, your lemon ginger tea, this splash of vodka, the silver flask in your pocket, the steam that fogs up your glasses, you suppress the urge to drop everything and run, to leave Angie just sitting there, to hide from Josh and this pretty girl. The little baggie of coke in your pocket, the weight of it there, the way you just wanna escape from all of this, you suppress the urge to just find some other fucking city to live in now, somewhere farther this time, somewhere he’d never be able to find you. Josh’s stupid mouth, the way he just smiles so big, you take a deep breath and say, “Josh.” The way your nose just can’t stop itching, the little bag in your pocket, the way the track marks on your arm just won’t stop aching, you say, “Hi.”

You say, “What are you doing here?”

And Josh’s voice, it’s exactly how you remembered it, Josh’s mouth glistening red as he swipes his tongue across his lips, with all the girls you’ve found to take his place, all those other boys, you’ve never forgotten what he tastes like. With all those other groupies, the ones that want to talk about how big of a star you are, all your fame, all your glory, the ones that don’t care when you miss a chord on stage, the ones that will never even notice when you fuck up the lyrics because you only got two hours of sleep the night before, all those other fans. It’s funny because, all those other distractions, you’ll still never forget the sounds Josh made when he was under you, the sweat on his brow, the way he parted his mouth, all those stupid mistakes, you’ll still never forget the hitch in Josh’s breath when you kissed the hollow of his throat.

And Josh’s voice, he says, “There’s a seminar,” a jerk of his thumb to the door as the blonde beside him purses her lips and waits to be introduced. Josh and his sloppy movements, the way he’s just so oblivious, he’s exactly how you remembered him and that ache in your belly is growing so much stronger, that knot there, it’s growing so much tighter. Your nose, your arms, the way your throat is just craving the taste of alcohol right now, this cup in your hand, your nervous little swallows, Josh will always be this bad for you. His awkward smile, Josh will always be this poisonous. And he’s saying, “It’s a forensics thing.” The girl’s pout growing harder and harder, Josh is looking only at you right now, and some part of you, that bad part, the one that’s always gotten you in trouble, it’s taking such perverse pleasure in that, and he’s saying, “Fiber and hair analysis. One of my college professors asked me to lecture.”

And you should say, “You should have called me.” And you should say, “We could get together for dinner one of these nights.” But you wouldn’t mean it, your apartment full of girls and drugs and music, your apartment and your life now, you should make plans but you know that you wouldn’t even show. You know that you wouldn’t even have the fucking guts.

The blonde beside him, she makes a small little noise in the back of her throat, and Josh says, “Oh.” Josh and the blush that creeps into his round cheeks, he says, “This is Ashley.” Her fake smile, those white teeth, the lipstick that looks painted on, this is exactly the same kind of Hollywood girl you used to write songs about. The way she flips her hair behind her shoulder, revealing the set of pearls around her neck, revealing the soft skin of her collarbone, the thin straps of her dress, this is exactly the same kind of girl you used to choose over Josh.

And you should say, “Nice to meet you,” but you would only be lying.

And Josh and the way he just can’t look at you, the way the blonde drapes herself all over him, the way she just knows exactly who you are, even with you hiding behind these glasses, even with these long sleeves pulled over the marks on your arm, Josh and the way his lips shine in the dying light of the sun, the storefront window, the late afternoon. Josh says, “This is my fiancée.”

Two years after Josh forgets your name, two years after the day you just left, the day he stopped wanting to be your brother, after all these groupies, all these distractions, two years after you went away and never came back, just left him standing there in San Diego with those tears in his eyes, those wet cheeks. Two years after Josh told you that he loved you, after Josh gave up everything to be with you, all those things he could have done, all those lives he could have lived, those dreams, the way you just broke his heart, two years later, you never even thought that he could still break yours.

***

Josh says, “She’s nothing, really.” His awkward mouth kissing your neck, kissing the skin beneath your jaw, the bridge of your nose, your fingers clenched in his hair, he says, “Ashley.” He says, “I can get rid of her.” And if you had a dollar for every time Josh promised you something, promised you something that he would see through until the end if you let him, his honest eyes, your utter contempt, it’s not that you hate him, really. It’s not like you’re jealous of the fact that Josh has always been the good one, the one that couldn’t lie even if his life depended on it, the one your parents always trusted. You and your stupid cowardice, you and the way you just can’t let anyone get close to you, especially now, especially after all of this, the way you just know you’d hurt him like before, like always. It’s not like you don’t wish things were different. Josh and his stupid mouth, really.

The thing is, once Angie got a good look at Ashley, her perfect complexion, her beautiful hair, those pretty white teeth, well, Angie knows a good investment when she sees one, and she’s not about to let that go, for any cost, and, hey, it’s only a few blocks to that new modeling agency. You suggest Josh should come and check out your apartment, the one overlooking the Hudson, and that he should come up and see your Grammys at least, the ones lining the hallway to your bedroom, all perfect gold. And Josh smiles shyly, and, really, he never used to be this shy around you, never used to keep his words in check, mind his tongue, and he says, “Sure.” He says, “Okay.”

And, really, the thing is, really, the next thing you know, his tongue is outlining the corners of your mouth and your hand is fisted in his shirt, holding on tight, holding on for dear life, his soft lips, and he tastes exactly the same. And Josh is saying, “I can give her up if you want me to.” Josh is saying, “Please.”

And this wasn’t even a good thing when it started, two years ago, before Josh forgot your name, before your parents ever found out, this wasn’t even a good thing when Josh was still so in love with you. This wasn’t even a good thing when Megan found out, walked in on you two, and just smiled like that, just smiled like the little girl she’s always been, gave you guys her silent blessing and closed the door behind her, this wasn’t even a good thing when everybody just felt so goddamn happy for you. Two years after Josh forgets your name, and he’s licking the stubble on your chin, this rough patch of skin, he’s grabbing your bicep and squeezing hard enough for you to see stars. The thing is, this wasn’t even a good thing when Josh could still look you in the eye and not flinch when he told you he loved you.

The thing is, yeah, the way you won’t ever be able to escape this life, these girls, this music, this whole drug culture, all these parties, all this sex and fucking rock ‘n’ roll, the thing is, this is never gonna be a good thing. The thing is, you won’t ever be able to stop fucking things up.

Josh and his awkward mouth, he’s saying, “She’s gone.” He’s saying, “I promise.” The way you just can’t say no to him, the way you just can’t deny him anything he wants, not now, not ever, his pretty smile, your mouth open, his lips on your throat, he’s saying, “Please,” and you just want to disappear.

***

You leave before Josh wakes up in the morning, before things get even more complicated, before you have to lie to his face about why you can’t do this anymore, why this is just getting so fucking old. Your satin sheets and the way Josh is drooling on your pillow, you have to do a line just to make yourself walk out the door, brushing your fingers against your nose, coming away with blood, and Josh’s stupid hair, his awkward mouth, you never wanted this to end like it did two years ago. You never wanted to relive this again, this stupid déjà vu, this stupid circle, this is never gonna end, and you’ll always just be stuck in the middle, this perpetual motion, your stupid cowardice.

You leave before Josh has a chance to look up at you like always, that puppy dog face, that sad mouth, the way his eyes fill up with tears, the way he just always ends up crying around you, you leave before you can see his pain, before you have to watch him break down. Just like last time, just like always and forever amen, Drake Parker this fucking heartbreaker, Drake Parker this shit-faced junkie. This asshole.

You leave before Josh has a chance to watch you cry, this never-ending cycle, really, the way you’ll always hurt him, you’re not happy about it, never will be, but sometimes you think it’s easier if you just let Josh think that, if you just let everyone believe that you’re the bad guy here. Sometimes you think it’s just easier to have all the blame be laid on you, if only it’ll keep him safe, if only it’ll save him from you, from your life, from everything you could do to him. Sometimes you think this is all worth your pain. You leave before Josh has a chance to see the rings around your eyes, your gaunt face, the way your ribs poke out of your skin, before Josh sees what you really look like, in the light that streams through your dormer windows, this sunlight rising above that line of skyscrapers on the horizon. You leave before Josh has a chance to see the way you shake when you cough, the red that splatters your palm.

And Josh deserves so much more than this, Josh deserves so much more than you, and, climbing your way to the roof of your building, your pack of cigarettes clutched tightly in your hand, you wish Josh never saw you, you wish he just never came to New York. The way your fingers tremble as you open the top of your Marlboro’s, the way it takes two, three tries to light it, you just wish that he really did forget your name, that he really did forget all about you, your stupid habits, your stupid cowardice. You just wish that you two didn’t fall back into old patterns, the way he always holds his breath when you walk into a room, the way you’ve never been able to keep your eyes off of him. The way you’ve just never been able to stop touching him, your fingers and his face, smooth and baby soft, your stubble and the scratches on his stomach, the way your fingers open and close in his hair, grip tight.

You have never deserved him, pulling your jacket tight across your chest, blinking your eyes shut against the stream of hot tears that are welling up, the sting of the wind blowing sharp against your face, you have never deserved his love, not once. You have never deserved anything about Josh Nichols, the way he’s always looked up to you, the way he’s always loved you, his pretty smile, his awkward mouth, the soft touch of his hair against your neck. You have never done anything to deserve the way he worships you.

You leave before Josh wakes up, leave like you’ve always left, every night he’s stupidly fallen into bed with you, every night he’s asked you to stay with him, always and forever amen, every night he’s looked up at you and whispered the word “please” against your mouth, every night before this one, before two years ago, before he ever forgot your name. You leave because that’s the only thing you know how to do, this life you’ve built up, all these fake friendships, all these adoring fans, the drugs, the sex, you leave because you don’t want Josh in this life with you, you don’t want him involved. His stupid little awkward life, this apple pie dream he’s always had, the blonde trophy wife, the great job, the two point five kids he’ll eventually have, that stupid fucking white picket fence, you leave because you’ll never fit into that, not now, not ever, no matter how much you want to. No matter how much Josh can make you change, all those NA meetings he asks you to go to, all those pamphlets Megan slips into your back pocket on those once a year dinners. You leave because you can’t bring Josh into this, because Josh deserves so much more, so much better.

The cold wind that blows over you, the cold that makes your bones ache, you peer over the edge of the roof and you watch all those people down below, those business men and women, those kids, that sun that’s climbing higher in the sky, the trees that shake. You watch them and you wish that you could just be that, just normal, just for once, all those people, all those boring lives, you watch them and wish that you could be able to just blend in like that, to exist without the whole world watching you. The cold wind that blows right through your thin jacket, the way your eyes sting, the way you shake and shake, the taste of Josh still in your mouth, the feel of his hair against your skin, the way his fingers traced the shape of your face, you leave him because there’s no other choice, because you have to, for his own sake, for his own safety. Peering over the edge, watching all those people, you leave Josh because it’s the only way to save him from this life, from ending up like you.

The cold that runs through you, your chattering teeth, your shaking body, the cold that stings your eyes, the tears that well up there, you leave because Josh is the only person you’ll ever be able to love.

And when you get that letter in the mail, the one that’s colored silver and white, embroidered with church bells and pretty ribbon, the one you’ve been waiting for, the one that comes crushed between your music magazines and unpaid bills, the fancy gold writing, your name in the best calligraphy you’ve ever seen. When you get that invitation, Josh’s return address in the corner, the pretty pressed seal, the one that’s the color of blood, staining this crème envelope, this invitation, when you get that in the mail, you don’t even think about opening it. This ache in the pit of your stomach, the way this little baggie sits heavy in your back pocket, the track marks on your arm, your nose, the way you just can’t stop coughing, really, you don’t think about it, not even once.


End file.
